


La Vie en Rose

by Aurorazilla



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Existential Angst, F/F, Fluff, Modern Westeros, Time Travel, margaery just wants to get to know her cute neighbour, the starks are squad goals, way off canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurorazilla/pseuds/Aurorazilla
Summary: A storm is coming for Westeros, and while Sansa has looked death in the eye before, she's never felt quite so alone and terrified. After learning of Margaery's confirmed death in the Sept, Sansa can't help but wonder the meaning of their deep connection. She just wishes she had one more chance to talk to Margaery - just to get the confusion out of the way.And then she's thrust into a scary new world, in a new body, and there's Margaery Tyrell, standing in front of her - alive and well.Or: The AU where Sansa falls forward in time to find Margaery, and has to make a terrible decision.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> hi my name is aurora, i'm nineteen, and i never fuckin learned how to consistently update fics
> 
> no but legit i have a few chapters already written so,,,,,,,,, we might be ok.................... and i have the plot lined up i just wanna see if this gets any attention before i actually try to post it
> 
> and ya the first chapter is real short so i'll post the second

**_“In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.”_ **

**-Maya Angelou**

 

The storm is approaching. It’s nearly upon them. It looks like death itself - more of an ominous shadow than a snow storm. She swore she saw blue lightning in it. Her stomach stirs uneasily. Everything in her is telling her to run from the storm, to do whatever she can to escape the approaching winter.

But she will not run. She is a Stark. She will be ready.

“It’s so…” Arya’s voice snags at her attention.

Sansa sighs. “Foreboding?”

“Yeah.” Arya nods.

The black cloud that is rolling towards them is far away, but with each passing day it seemed more and more… hungry? Large? It was difficult to tell, but it seemed to be _alive_ and it’s that which scares Sansa the most. Jon had warned her of what was to come, but she didn’t think it would be so… real. It’s a moment of clarity before disaster - the feeling she’d had when she watched her father being executed. That split moment just before- before- the memory sickens her to remember.

She wonders if it was like that for Arya. If Arya feels the tense grip of impending death. Sansa’s never been particularly protective over her little sister, but the sudden urge to _save_ her grips her chest tightly. She’s lost so much that she loved. And with the recent news she’d found…

“You don’t seem… okay.” Arya’s attempt to be comforting is awkward, but the effort warms Sansa.

“I found something in Littlefinger’s room that was…” She pauses. “Distressing.”

“News? Is it Jon?” Arya’s eyes widen.

“No, it’s from when the Sept was destroyed.”

“Ah.” Arya frowns. “I thought you knew about that.”

“I did, but I didn’t know… who was dead because of it. I- I didn’t know she... “ Her throat tightens. “A friend- someone I knew very well - rather, she knew _me_ well, and… she was in the Sept.”

Arya sighs, placing a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d have any friends at King’s Landing.”

“She was… she was very dear to me.” Sansa closes her eyes. “I’d like to be alone if you want to go back inside and warm up?”

“Okay.” Arya nods, then steps back. “Come in soon?”

“I will.”

With this, Arya slips back into the castle.

Sansa’s heart tugs in her chest. _Margaery is dead._ Sansa had suspected, but seeing it written on paper was… chilling. She can’t even begin to explain why. After all, everything that happened with Margaery was… confusing. A blur of… adoration and friendship and- and- _niceties_ that Sansa was just not used to (not anymore) and Margaery was so warm and kind and… and now she’s gone.

The knowledge settles uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She can’t process why it’s there, or the heaviness of it. It’s empty and cold as the winter approaching. Margaery is gone. Summer is gone. Perhaps Margaery was her final breath of Summer - perhaps the incoming winter would take her.

She’s not as spiritual as she had once been. Not for a long time - she figures, if any Gods were listening, why would they condemn her to such monstrous events? (Perhaps to make her the direwolf she’s become today? She doesn’t know.) She hadn’t dwelled on her beliefs in a long, long while, but suddenly she wonders what happened to Margaery.

She died in the Sept, so what happened to her? Were there specific rights that were not done for her, so she is trapped in--

Sansa opens her eyes. The storm is nearly upon them. Not long now.

She wonders if she will see Margaery again. In her dreams? Will this winter be the death of her - if it is, will she find Margaery again? She doesn’t know why the urge to see her again is so strong, but - Gods - she’d give anything.

Margaery was the only one there for her. She said many strange things, but they were exciting and Sansa loved hearing them. _Some women like pretty girls._ What an odd thing to say; what did she _mean_? Sansa liked Margaery. Margaery was pretty. She figured Margaery liked her too, and called her ‘pretty’ many times. She liked Margaery a lot. She was… she was what Sansa had needed. At the time.

Maybe even now…

She wonders how different everything would be if she’d had Margaery at her side. She can imagine it now - how encouraging and soothing the older woman’s words would be, in her darkest times. Sweet murmurs of encouragement, gentle whispers in the dead of night…

_Some women like pretty girls._

Sana liked Margaery. She really, really liked Margaery.

The thought of her fate brought about a terrible sadness that bloomed in her chest like the rose she had lost. The beautiful summer rose she had come to know so well - or, she _thought_ she knew so well. She isn’t even sure if Margaery was truly her friend at all, but the feelings that Sansa had for her were all too real. A hard strike to the chest.

What is it, she ponders? It’s so strong, so forceful that it knocks the breath from her body. The sickening clench at her chest, a fist closing around her heart because Margaery is _gone_ and Sansa is truly alone once more.

 _No._ She’s not alone. She tries to steady her thoughts.

She has Arya. And Jon. And Bran… more or less. She is not alone. She is a Stark. She has her pack. Her family.

But why does Margaery’s death _hurt_ so much?

She forces her attention away from the crushing sadness, and looks to the approaching storm. It’s moving faster. It’s a living, breathing thing - coming right for them like a beast. The dragons she’d met were nothing compared to this… _thing_ that was coming to destroy all of Westeros.

There’s an odd light flashing in the cloud. The already darkened night sky seems to turn black all of a sudden. Sansa hears strange sound - somewhere between a screech and a howl - and then it’s all white and-

 

And it’s warm.

The world takes a long moment to return to focus, but when it does Sansa is stunned by a whole change in scenery. She’s no longer on the walls of Winterfell. She’s in… a building. With… an odd sort of desk that is between her and-

“M-Margaery?”


	2. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is lost in time, and Margaery is.... well, Margaery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeere's chapter two/technically chapter one
> 
> um
> 
> yea

******_"I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star.”_**

**_-_ Emery Allen _, Become_**

 

 

“M-Margaery?” Sansa’s mind is racing. How is Margaery here? How is _she_ here? Where is… _here_?

The place is strange, and smells strongly of flowers. She takes a moment to look around, and there flowers everywhere. On shelves, in pots, hanging from the ceiling - all kinds of flowers from daisies to roses to ones she can’t even name. It’s so colourful, and bright, and-

And there’s _Margaery_. Living, breathing Margaery.

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Margaery chuckles and- and it’s just like Sansa remembers.

Is _she_ dead too?

She can’t remember, and suddenly panic strikes her.

“Are you alright?” Margaery asks, her eyebrows pulling together in concern. “You’re bleeding?”

“I-” Sansa feels something odd beneath her nose, and reaches up to touch it. She looks down to see she is, in fact, bleeding. What- what was happening? “I’m sorry, I have to- go.” She turns, several times before finding the entrance.

It’s a strange glass door, but she doesn’t ponder it until she’s stepped out of the building. Her eyes widen, a sharp pain stinging in her head and her nose bleeding harder into her hands. There are so many tall buildings around her - they’re taller than a castle! Where is she?

There are giant… _things_ roaring by on an odd black road in front of her. They’re going so fast and they’re so _loud_ that Sansa can’t imagine anyone would survive an attack by one. They don’t seem to notice her as long as she’s on the white rock off to the side. Where did they come from, she wonders, and how long have they been in Westeros?

Is this Westeros, though?

She feels sick to her stomach. She’s scared and lost and she doesn’t know where this place is - is she in another world? How is Margaery alive here?

Where is she?!

“Miss-” Margaery’s voice comes from behind her and she turns to see her once more. In this new, brighter light she’s certain it’s truly Margaery. She’s so beautiful; still so warm and welcoming with her big, grey eyes. “Miss, I can’t let you leave like that. Are you alright? Please, come inside so I can get you something to-”

Sansa feels her knees give out all of a sudden. The world spins around her, and darkness yanks her under what feels like roaring waters.

* * *

_Maybe it was stalkerish. But, dammit, her neighbour was way too attractive and it was Arya who told her where she worked. So really, it’s not stalkerish. She just wants to… look at the place under a recommendation from her sister. She likes flowers, and wants some for her new flat. Her first flat alone. Away from home._

_And, yeah, her neighbour was really, really hot and Sansa hasn’t been able to really meet her. She’s seen her once or twice in the hall, and once she and Sansa sat in an awkwardly silent elevator for thirty seconds._

_Yeah. She’s a real ladykiller._

_So. Yeah. This was a good idea. A safe one. Just go in, say ‘Oh! I think I’ve seen you around before!’ and she’ll say ‘I think so, too! Say, would you like to go out to dinner?’ and Sansa can live a long and happy bisexual life._

_The shop is cute, with light coloured walls and flowers everywhere - duh. Sansa wonders if they’ll have any Winter Roses, but she doubts it as they’re very hard to grow in the south. To the right of the entrance is the counter, and there she is._

_Gods, she’s gorgeous._

_Wavy brown hair, pale grey eyes, a smirk on her face like she knows everything about you. She makes Sansa’s stomach erupt in butterflies._

_(She’s been drawn to the woman since she first met her. Gods, she hopes that’s not creepy.)_

_The girl looks up, but Sansa looks away awkwardly and slips further into the store, looking at the rows of roses until she finds some pretty blue ones that aren’t quite Winter Roses but are still beautiful. She goes to the counter and readies herself to talk to her neighbour._

_“I’ve seen you before,” the goddess says with her signature smirk and Sansa’s throat feels dry as she blushes._

_“Oh?” She says awkwardly._

_“Yeah - didn’t you just move in nextdoor? 213?”_

_“Oh! Yeah, that’s- that’s me.” Sansa’s blush is even worse now as the stranger takes her money for the roses. Their fingers brush._

_“I’m Margaery.”_

_Margaery._

Margaery.

* * *

 

Her head hurts.

Gods, does it hurt.

A dull, aching throb. She’s somewhere quiet. It doesn’t smell like flowers, but it smells much more feminine than her own flat.

Wait. Her flat. This world…

She’s…

She’s Sansa Stark. Still. But a different one. Her memories of this… version of herself are coming slowly. She knows this world very well. She’s been in it for a while. Her whole life. This life, at least. Is that what this is? Is she… did she die, back in Winterfell?

Is she dead _now_?

The thought is alarming, and her eyes snap open when she inhales sharply. The light is far too bright for her. She clenches her eyes shut again.

Her brief glimpse of her surroundings inform her she’s in another place. On a soft surface. Something is over her body, and it’s soft and warm. Something is also on her belly, heavy and warm and vibrating low.

She hears, distantly, a conversation that is muffled. Perhaps by a wall?

 _“Loras, please just- do this for me? She_ fainted _right in front of me!”_ It’s familiar, but she can’t place it because of how quiet it is. _“She might have some sort of brain trauma - I don’t know! Please? Do I have to remind you of when you and- yeah, that’s what I thought. Thank you, dearest brother. I love you.”_ A pause, then a door opens and the click of heels on wood sharpens Sansa’s senses all at once.

She’s in Margaery’s flat. Somehow, she ended up at _Margaery’s_ and-

Oh, gods! Does _Margaery_ know what Sansa knows? Does she know that Sansa knows that she knows? No, she clearly doesn’t know or else she would-

She’d-

Well, Sansa isn’t sure _what_ she’d do but she at least expects Margaery to have some further recollection beyond Sansa moving in next door. Perhaps she remembered all at once, as Sansa had. But she didn’t seem to? In fact, she played the part of ‘concerned-slash-scared florist’ entirely too well. She can’t have remembered as Sansa has.

Is it even remembering if she was _just there_ a few hours ago?

Or is it days ago?

She doesn’t know how long she’s been out.

She doesn’t even know if this is _real._

The fresh wave of pain in her head makes her grunt and squint her eyes open once more.

“Oh, thank the Seven, I was going to call an ambulance.” Margaery sighs, relieved, before moving to Sansa’s side.

Sansa’s eyes take a long time to adjust and when she does she realizes the flat is similar in size to her own, but with a much more modern-chique style with greens and browns and greys. (It’s so strange to compare her flat to anything, because this isn’t _her life_ except it _is_ and it’s so… confusing.)

The thing on her stomach is a large, fluffy cat with calico patches. Its green eyes look at Sansa with a deep intelligence. The cat makes her… uncomfortable.

“Sorry. Couldn’t keep her off of you.” Margaery frowns at the cat. “C’mon, Sophie.”

The cat lets out a low growl, but gets up and saunters off.

“Are you okay? Do you want water? You probably need some. Hold on.” Margaery disappears from view and Sansa resists the urge to run out of the flat, out of the building, and then going back to… er, Winterfell?

It’s still… here? So, that means Sansa didn’t fall to the storm.

Then… she isn’t dead?

She’s just…

In another body? In another world?

Margaery returns, and Sansa shakily sits up on the couch. Her head spins a moment, but her vision steadies and she tries to focus on anything besides the splitting headache. She drinks the water, and almost immediately feels better.

“I’m so sorry,” she mutters, sort of mortified because for some reason this version of herself - which is, still herself? Can she still call it herself? - was very excited to meet this version of Margaery for the first time and she’s ruined it.

“For what?” Margaery laughs. “Being dehydrated?”

“Well-”

“I know the plumbing seems shady, but there are water pitchers with filters in them in case you’re worried about-”

“I meant I’m sorry about, uh, making a scene? I was-” she suddenly feels very nervous. Her stomach feels odd, and her cheeks feel warm. She can’t believe she’s in the presence of Margaery again - even if it’s another version of her, it’s still _Margaery_ and Sansa can’t believe it.

“Buying those roses.” Margaery smirks. “I brought them with us here.”

“How did you- ah, how am I-?”

“In my flat? I carried you to my car, silly girl.”

“What?” Sansa’s jaw drops. “You’re _that_ strong? I’m way taller than you!”

Margaery laughs and it’s just as musical and joyful as Sansa remembers, so she laughs too.

“That’s not fair,” she says with a grin, “you tricked me.” It’s a sharp reminder of one of her and Margaery’s talks. One of the first, she thinks.

“You are entirely too easy for me to trick,” Margaery winks and Sansa’s cheeks feel hot again. “Are you alright, though? Should I call the hospital - or, um, someone?” There’s some sort of implication in her last words that snags at the back of Sansa’s mind, but she ignores it to smile at Margaery.

“I’m fine. Promise. No need to call the hospital or my friends and family.”

Margaery’s expression shifts so slightly that anyone who didn’t _know_ her wouldn’t notice it, but Sansa knows Margaery. She and this one are one and the same, no doubt about it. Margaery knows something. Sansa is certain it has nothing to do with her current predicament.

“Okay.” She pauses. “Well, I have the rest of the day off, miss…?”

“S-Sansa. Stark.” Sansa says it like Margaery should know because she _should_ but she _doesn’t_ because, for some reason, only Sansa seems to remember the old Westeros. Or… the other one… or…

Whatever.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” Margaery’s words make Sansa’s stomach flip. “I have the rest of the day off, would you allow me to make today up to you?”

“M-make it up?” Sansa sputters.

“You know, pop in a movie or something and make sure you get some rest.” Margaery smiles and how can Sansa _possibly_ say no?

“O-okay. What movie?”

“I like documentaries a lot, but if you wanted to watch something else-?”

“No, that’s fine. You pick, I’m not- um, picky.”

This world was both strange and familiar. The flatscreen television that sat across from the couch flicked on, and while the _regular_ Sansa - rather, the one she was before… this one -  found the contraption frighteningly new, the ‘modern’ Sansa found it to be nothing to make note of.

“Is the War of Five Kings interesting at all to you?” Margaery asks.

 _The War of Five Kings._ She wants to laugh. _It’s not just interesting - I’ve_ lived _through it._ She nods mutely, suddenly feeling nervous about being alone with Margaery. She used to be so close with her. In another life, that is.

The film is slow, and Sansa is not really paying attention. She keeps looking at Margaery. It’s sobering. Hours ago - or is it _centuries_ ago? Did she go through time itself? - she was praying to every god she knew that she could see Margaery again. She was _mourning_ the loss of her friend whom she never truly got to say goodbye to; she was _heartbroken_ over Margaery’s death in the Sept.

And now?

Now she’s… right next to Sansa. Alive. Breathing. Looking right back at Sansa with no sense of the familiarity they’d once shared.

“Why is it you look at me like that?” Margaery asks, her voice soft.

“Like what?” Sansa’s cheeks fill with heat. She looks down at her lap, at her hands, to avoid Margaery’s inquisitive gaze.

“Like… you can’t believe I’m sitting here.”

“I can’t.” Sansa glances up, and Margaery’s eyebrow quirks up and the same smirk she’d always had in her other life pulls at her lips. (Sansa has missed this expression, but, gods, she can’t figure out why.) “I mean-” she gestures awkwardly at Margaery. “Look at you?” She offers weakly, her cheeks _burning_ with embarrassment.

Margaery laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It- it is. I mean, what I meant was- you’re really… pretty.”

Margaery’s smirk is back. “You’re just trying to sweet-talk me.”

“It’s- that’s not-”

“I was joking, Sansa.” Margaery chuckles, then looks back at the screen. “Were you named after her? The Lost Stark?”

“The… the _what_?” Sansa looks at Margaery with confusion that Margaery mirrors.

“She’s _your_ ancestor - how do you not know about her?”

The Lost Stark… _The Lost Stark…_ It rings a bell but it makes Sansa’s stomach drop as she hones her attention on the documentary.

_“She was fearless, they say. Lady Sansa Stark - formerly Lady Bolton, almost Queen Sansa Lannister, once the wife of Tyrion Lannister himself - was a force to be reckoned with in the times leading up to the second Long Night; she brought House Arryn to the Battle of the Bastards, gave the Northerners the hope they needed in such dire times, and suddenly… she was gone. Like a phantom._

_“Her brother, Bran Stark, has written many accounts on his sister’s whereabouts, though they are quite vague - as most of his writings are. Her sister, Arya, is said to have gone on a rage search for her._

_“There are not many clear records as to her disappearance, but what we do know is that she vanished off of the wall of Winterfell Castle not long before the Great Storm. No one has ever known where she went, just that she disappeared without a trace-”_

They think she left.

They think she left them.

She _left them_ and came _here_. She wasn’t dead- no- she didn’t disappear, they have it wrong-

“Sansa, are you okay?” Margaery’s voice is distant because Sansa’s mind is _screaming_.

Her heart is clawing at her chest, she feels her lungs losing oxygen. She’s _here._ She isn’t _dead_. But they are. This is not the Westeros she grew up in, this is a new one. Centuries in the future. Centuries from her brother and her sister and Jon and-

And-

Margaery is _here_.

They’re all _here_ . Catelyn is alive - this woman who is the mother of _this_ Sansa is most certainly _hers_ . She looks the exact same. And her father- yes! That’s _him_ she is sure of it. And Rickon. And Robb.

They’re _all_ here.

But she left the others behind. She left _her_ Arya behind. _Her_ Bran. _Her_ Jon. She’s known them her whole life - and maybe they’re one and the same with the ones in this world, but she…

She left them.

They need her. _Needed._ Clearly they were able to stop it all from destroying Westeros, and clearly they managed to save the family line (and the Tyrells, somehow?) but, gods, Sansa can’t believe this is all _real_.

It’s all real.

Margaery is real.

It all comes back to Margaery. Gods, she can’t imagine why it would. But there she is. Looking at Sansa in that way that she always did before, with her big stormy eyes.

Maybe she didn’t _leave_ them. Maybe something brought her here.

“I… I’m sorry, I suppose I’m still a little… out of it.” Sansa realizes her fists are clenched, and loosens them with a wince.

“You’re crying.” Margaery’s cool hand touches Sansa’s overheated cheek.

The redhead jolts in shock. She’ll never get used to the strange feeling that came with Margaery’s touch. It’s always been there, and this world is clearly no different.

“I should… go. Yes, I should go.” Sansa pulls back, shaken, and Margaery nods with a frown.

“Alright. You should rest.” Margaery smiles kindly, then grabs the blue roses, now in a lovely purple vase. “You’re the door right next to mine, yeah? Do you mind if I check on you later?”

Sansa returns the smile because Margaery _still cares_. “That’s no problem at all. Thank you very much, I will make it up to you - I swear it.”

“It’s a date, then,” Margaery winks and Sansa turns to leave before her blush gets any worse.

When she’s in her own apartment, it all hits her again and she has to set the roses down before she curls up against the couch. Her head hurts, and her eyes sting with unshed tears.

She’s in this new world that’s so familiar but so cold and unwelcoming. She knows this world, but it’s all so strange at the same time. She is at war with herself, with the horrible reality that everyone she knew is dead and gone, and back again. And none of them even remember.

And it all comes back to Margaery.

_Margaery._

Sansa doesn’t know why she’s been brought here, but she’s certain it has to do with Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How exactly does one approach the topic of, "I knew you years ago - centuries ago - and I think I've loved you since then?"


	3. Chaos of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where I can only write Sansa and Arya's sisterhood relationship as mine and my own sister's I'm so sorry I can't ever imagine a relationship where they aren't complete little shits and-------
> 
> ahem
> 
> The one where Arya is a little shit, Sansa is one thirsty bb, and I'm on my sixth espresso.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love the feedback! Thank you so much for reading, guys! I've been sitting on this one for a while, sorta hesitant on if anyone would want to read it or not, so it's relieving to see such positive results! Enjoy chapter three!

**_“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”_ **

**-Kiersten White, _The Chaos of Stars_**

 

Sansa really should be resting. She has a splitting headache again. But she can’t help but _stare_. She has so many pictures of her family hanging on the walls of her flat. Her eyes slowly roam over each and every one, taking in all the little details and trying to remember the day they were taken. It’s so strange to see them all together again - to have the entire Stark brood, alive and well, even if it is just a photograph.

Her father’s smile is warm - just as it always was - as he has one arm around her mother, who is smiling proudly with her hand on Sansa’s shoulder. Robb is standing next to her, grinning widely. Jon is smiling beside Arya, who is sitting just in front of their father with a cocky half-smile. Bran and Rickon take the front, Bran in a wheelchair (Sansa supposes not everything in this world can be perfect, and at least he’s himself in this one) and Rickon halfway through a fidget in front of Sansa and Arya. His right hand is just slightly blurry, and she can sort of remember their mum scolding him.

This world is almost too perfect.

A gentle knock at the door startles her.

 _Almost_ too perfect.

She answers it numbly, her mind leagues away and her desire to always be polite even further.

Arya stands in front of her with a quirked eyebrow. “Sansa? Are you alright?”

She should tell someone.

But would _Arya_ , of all people, understand?

No. She had to think bigger.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Sansa forces a smile.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Arya frowns, stepping into the flat without invitation.

Sansa fights a sigh, and closes the door softly behind her. Even in this world, Arya is a pest. But, her sister nonetheless. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Arya looks at her, puzzled, then gestures to her nose again. “Can you fix your damn nose, Miss Lohan?”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but moves to the kitchen to gather paper towels and puts them to her nose. Her headache worsens. She fears it to be certain death.

“Are you alright?” Arya asks when Sansa returns to the living room. Her younger sister now lounges on her small blue sofa, eyeing the TV longingly. “You forgot I was coming over, and you’re acting funny.”

“Funny? Me?” Sansa mutters, sitting down beside Arya after shoving the brunette’s feet off of the sofa.

“Yeah…” Arya hums, then observes Sansa for a moment. Suddenly, she grins. “You talked to her didn’t you? Your hot neighbour.”

“W-what-” Sansa’s cheeks immediately burst to flames and she swears on the Old Gods-

“You _did!_ That’s why you’re so flustered! Oh, happy days! My big sister has finally confronted her Big Gay Crush on-”

“Keep your voice _down_!” Sansa hisses, slapping her sister’s shoulder.

Arya cackles. “Gods, Sans, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _I literally have. Gods, I truly have._ She can’t really quiet her screaming thoughts, so she lets out a quiet hum.

Arya frowns. “Sans, are you… okay? Are you thinking about him again?”

Him? _Him._

Memories that aren’t quite her own flood her mind. Joffrey. She dated Joffrey in this life, too. _Good to know I’m an absolute idiot in both lives._ He made her feel horrible, as he did before. In this life, he made her want to change in terrible ways. She remembers hardly eating for days, she remembers hating what she saw in the mirror, wishing she was born different, wishing she was just a tad thinner, wishing she was good enough for him…

“Sansa. Do- should- should I call Robb? Or dad?” Arya’s voice pulls her from the thoughts and Sansa shakes her head immediately.

“No. No, thank you. I’ll be… I’m fine.” She forces a smile. “Why are you here again?”

Arya’s expression does not change, but she doesn’t press any further. “It’s not like you to forget, but: I’m here for a match.”

A match. Of _course_. Arya went to a school for kickboxing. She made damn good money doing it, and was the best in the amateur league. Her next match - the semi-semi finals - was against the so far reigning champion of King’s Landing: The Hound. Things were getting heavy now, as she was facing more and more men rather than just women. 

“Oh.” Sansa sighs, rubbing her temples. “Damn, sorry. I’m sort of… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Well,” Arya stands with a stretch. “I won’t pry, but do you want to go to yoga? I need to stretch my muscles a tad.”

That was Arya’s way of saying _‘I think yoga is lame but I still want to go to it because it feels good’_. Sansa smiles. “Sure.”

The sisters are just leaving when Sansa - quite literally - runs into her attractive neighbour. _Attractive,_ she thinks wildly, _gods, I think she’s_ attractive _!_

Not that she didn’t before! It’s just… this attraction feels… different, in a way. She isn’t sure how, because even before she found Margaery to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen… but now it’s a new sort of… thing. She just finds the entirety of Margaery to be so _lovely_.

“Oh! Sansa!” Margaery gasps. “Are you alright? I-I wanted to check up on you, but-”

“You must be the hot neighbour,” Arya chimes, and Sansa almost punches her sister right then and there.

“Arya-!” Sansa yelps.

Margaery laughs softly. “Er, hello! I don’t suppose we’ve met. I’m Margaery.”

“Arya, this awkward mess’ sister.” Arya gestures to the taller sister with a snort, then runs her gaze up and down Margaery’s figure. “Hm. Yeah, I figured she’d be into a girl like you. Come on, Sans, I want to make sure I’m at the peak of my game.”

The younger Stark begins to walk away and Sansa sputters an awkward, _“I’m fine, thank you, and I’m sorry,”_ before following.

“She’s pretty,” Arya notes once they’re in the elevator.

_Yeah, she sure is._

* * *

 

_“How could you just leave us like that?”_

_“And to think I’d just started to believe you weren’t a complete disaster.”_

_“You left us, Sansa.”_

_“What would father think? What would_ mother _think?”_

_“You’ve always been the weakest Stark.”_

_“The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”_

_Flashes of a warm, sunny day. A kind smile, a rose offered. The stem is flawless in her fingers - not a single thorn to prick her. Gentle eyes. Such a pretty smile, such kind words._

_And then winter comes._

 

Sansa sits up, her body coated in sweat and her heart racing wildly. For a long moment, she's lost and confused. It's horribly quiet without Winterfell's winds picking up outside, or the quiet murmur of the guards and soldiers. She's in a near blind panic when she sees a figure in the door way because  _this is not her room._ She’s about to scream when Arya’s voice stops her.

“Whoa! Easy there! You were shouting in your sleep and I wanted to check on you.”

“I-I’m fine.” Sansa looks around herself, a sudden overwhelming sense of loss weighing on her shoulders as the reality of her situation settles in. “I’m… fine.”

Arya’s sigh reaches her ears, and through the darkness her senses heighten enough to just faintly hear Arya move to her bed. She sits down at Sansa’s feet.

“You know… you can talk to me about anything. I mean, you’re my sister and all. If I… had certain… thoughts and feelings, I’d like to say I’d talk to you about it - and, er, I’d like to think you would as well. If you were comfortable, that is.”

Sansa feels a smile pull at her lips. “Thank you, Arya. But I… I don’t think I can… at least, not yet.” _Possibly not ever, because who will believe that I’ve traveled from back in time through some sort of spiritual mishap?_

Arya pats her leg, then stands hesitantly. “You don’t… need me to sleep in bed with you, do you?”

Sansa snorts. “Please, you just want to sleep on my bed so you don’t have to deal with the couch.”

“It’s not exactly the comfiest,” Arya hums thoughtfully. “And, y’know, this match will let me move into the semi-finals, then the finals - both of which could potentially lead to my career-”

“Shut up and get into bed,” Sansa groans, laying down on her side. She hears Arya hiss out a _‘yesss’_ before plopping down on the mattress.

It bounces once, twice, and then it stills and the sisters fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

_Beebeep, beebeep, beebeep-_

 

Sansa groans in agony. “What in the name of the Old Gods is that sound?” She hisses, opening her eyes slightly. Her body responds on autopilot to the noise, and it stops when she hits an odd box contraption.

Where is she?

The events of the day prior hit her once again with a fresh wave of grief. She left her family behind.

Gods, she left them to be with Margaery. If that… was possible. But there is no denying the connection. She is here because of Margaery. She’s sure of it. Though it doesn’t quite make sense, and it’s all terribly confusing and scary and she’s _alone_ because of it. Because of whatever made her find Margaery again.

Why is she _here_?

“Sansa, are you okay?” Arya’s sleepy voice behind her is gruff.

“I’m fine.” Sansa mutters, slipping out of bed. Her throat is painfully dry.

She’s just getting a glass of water when there’s a soft knock at the door. Who knocks on her door at ten in the morning? Nobody she knows, at least.

She ignores the fact that she’s in a bralette and shorts - even in this world, King’s Landing is unbearably hot compared to Winterfell - and opens the door, ready to chew out whoever dared disturb her before she could properly wake up.

And it’s Margaery.

Of course it is.

Her mouth falls open, then closes, and opens, and closes. She blushes. “Um. Hi.”

“Hey,” Margaery’s eyes dart over her body and Sansa has the urge to cover herself up. “Not that I’m complaining about the view, but Petyr Baelish lives across the hall and he’s a real creeper.”

 _Lord Baelish._ Sansa wishes he was dead in this life, too.

“Right.” She hums, stepping aside. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure!” Margaery slips inside and Sansa shuts the door behind her. “Uh, I actually just wanted to check up on you, and make sure you aren’t, you know, dead.”

“I’m alive,” Sansa smiles awkwardly. _More or less, I think?_

“Right.” Margaery stands in front of her for a long moment, biting her bottom lip. Sansa can’t draw her eyes away. “Do you want to go out for coffee sometime? I’d like to make yesterday up to you.”

“ _I_ should be the one making it up to _you,_ ” Sansa laughs softly. “I sort of pulled you out of your job because I was--” _brought out of my own time period_ “--dehydrated.”

“Is that what that was?” Margaery asks.

“Sort of,” Sansa clears her throat. “But yes, I’d- I’d like going out. For coffee. With, um, you. When?”

“Anytime between now and the foreseeable future is fine with me.” Margaery chuckles. “I can’t seem to get you off my mind, Sansa.”

Sansa tries not to think about the blush that’s spreading across Margaery’s and her own cheeks. “Oh, I’ll have to-”

“Sansa, don’t you have work tod- oh, uh, good morning.” Arya freezes in the bedroom doorway on the other side of the living room, her eyes wide and her eyebrows cocked curiously as she looks between Sansa and Margaery. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting a shirtless meeting with your neighbour.”

Sansa’s face reddens considerably and Margaery can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“Sorry,” the blonde says. “I, uh wasn’t expecting it, either.”

“Right.” Arya drawls, eying Sansa suspiciously. The redhead’s blush worsens, and the younger Stark snorts. “Um, okay, well… Sansa, you know you have work today, right?”

“W-work…?” Sansa tries to think about it. It takes a bit of effort, but she sort of remembers the musty smell of old books and vinyl records. A bookstore. She’s worked there for six months. She loves it there. “Shit.” She hisses under her breath. It’s almost ten-thirty and she’s in at eleven. “I’ll be late-”

“Call out. You fainted yesterday out of dehydration,” Arya grins devilishly. “Besides, doesn’t Obella owe you one?”

“No, _Ygritte_ owes me one and she’s a pain,” Sansa mutters automatically, finding herself shocked at the immediate response. _Oh gods is this the me from this reality? Is that how this works? Or do we share the same conscious of thought?_

“Well, call out the favour, and let your - erm, _friend_ \- treat you to lunch. Everyone wins.”

Sansa frowns. She hates lying. Always has. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do this just once…

And she- she can’t just _not_ be with Margaery. She just- she needs to be with her. For just this one time. She _needs_ this. Maybe if she gets enough time to study her, to be in her presence, she'll accept that this is real, that that's  _Margaery_  and not some tragic fever dream her mind seems to be insistent upon.

So she tells Ygritte she’s got the shits and that’s that. She quickly changes into something presentable and Margaery and Arya are talking in the living room and there’s something inside of Sansa that is screaming but in a good way.

Like this was… is… all that’s supposed to be.

Margaery looks back up at her, and Sansa swears she’s lost all breath in her body.

“Ready to go?” Margaery asks softly, and though Sansa hears the words she doesn’t quite register them.

Margaery is so, so beautiful - and so, so alive. Sansa almost wants to reach out and touch her - ensure that this isn’t some fantasy or some sick fever dream. That this is truly Margaery.

“Right, um, I’ll just go practice then,” Arya’s voice yanks Sansa away from her quickly derailing thoughts. “Just- don’t screw on the sofa, yeah? I sleep there.”

Sansa’s cheeks are ablaze and the click of the door closing leaves her and Margaery alone.

Sansa can’t believe that this girl in front of her is someone whose very presence is so important to Sansa that she’s somehow come through time and space to find her again. She is so, so beautiful and so, so Margaery that Sansa can’t breathe again.

“There you go again,” Margaery’s voice is cut short by a nervous laugh. “Looking at me like you can’t believe I’m here.”

“I can’t,” Sansa says quietly, repeating her response from yesterday.

Margaery bites her bottom lip and smiles. “I really don’t know why you intrigue me so, Sansa Stark. Anyhow- would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Sansa’s stomach answers for her with a loud snarl. Margaery laughs.

“Do you just not know how to survive as a human being?” She teases. “No water, no food - do you actually sleep or do you just lie there?”

Sansa grins. “I’m doing _fine,_ thank you very much. I just have a stressful academic life.”

“Oh?” Margaery’s eyebrow quirks. “Let’s talk about it on the way.”

They leave the flat as Sansa, almost on autopilot, tells the blonde about her third year of college. She’s a literature major, with a passion for writing and Old Westerosi literature. She’d like to be a successful author, and when she starts to ramble, she realizes she knows nothing about this Margaery. This one is new, with a new life and a new purpose, and it’s a startling thing to remember. She used to share everything with Margaery. Used to know so many embarrassing stories from her childhood.

“You alright?” Margaery asks as they exit the building and the bright late morning light blinds them. “I lost you there for a second.”

“Y-yeah,” Sansa nods. “I’m fine. Um, what about you?”

“I’m lovely, thank you.”

Sansa huffs. “I meant what do _you_ do?”

“I own a flower shop. I believe you’ve been there before?”

The redhead rolls her eyes, but smiles. “You’re horrible. I changed my mind, maybe I _will_ go to work-”

“Oh, fine.” Margaery’s grin matches Sansa’s and there’s an undeniable warmth that spreads in Sansa’s chest. “I went to college for business, earned a pretty decent amount of money with my brother, Loras, by working with my father over the years, and when we had enough, Loras and I opened the shop.” She paused. “But to be honest, I’d rather be an artist.”

Sansa looks at her curiously. “Really?”

“Yes,” Margaery almost looks _shy_. “I’d like to have a gallery one day to sell my works in. I love to paint. It’s like second nature for me.”

It’s so fitting, Sansa thinks. Because of _course_ Margaery would like to paint. She’s so graceful and beautiful in every way and of _course_ she paints.

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” she muses.

“And I’d love to read yours,” Margaery says. “And I’d like to paint you.”

Sansa’s cheeks warm. “M-me?”

“Yes, I think you are lovely.”

Sansa looks down at the sidewalk as they approach a small diner. _H_ _ot Pie’s._ She remembers seeing this place once or twice. She still can’t separate her memories well - or even at all - without a conscious effort. But Margaery is smiling at her in that soft way she seemed to always smile at Sansa and something inside of Sansa is melting.

“I think you’re lovely, too,” she says quietly, taking Margaery’s hand as they enter the diner.

_Some girls like pretty girls._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to those who comment! Love that ish. Keep on doin' that :)


	4. Enchantment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i haven't updated since last y- (gets slapped in the face)
> 
> anyway tHANKS EVERYONE FOR THE REVIEWS AND KUDOS!!  
> I hope you guys like this chapter!!! It's long!!!!!!!
> 
> (erm I'm trying to update like every other day or something, or maybe once or twice a week... I'm not sure, I'm bad at scheduling so.... hang in there)

 

**_“_ _A heart worth loving is one you understand, even in silence.”_ **

**– Shannon L. Alder**

 

**_Margaery._ **

 

Living a sweet, simple life in the city was - in short - a routine that quickly became dull for Margaery. It wasn’t that it was a _boring_ life, exactly, but she never was able to comfortably fall into routines that her family found themselves following. She liked excitement, _adventure._ That’s why she dropped her business classes and spent her last two college years as a Fine Arts student, scrambling to catch up and graduate on time with the rest of her classmates.

So, when her new neighbour began to move in, she saw a beautiful window of opportunity. This opportunity gifted her the chance of not only a possible new friendship, but a gorgeous girl that immediately caught her eye.

Of course, Loras was wary from the start. _“You’re obsessed. It’s probably just a little girl crush.”_

_“I’m bisexual, Loras, none of my crushes are just ‘girl crushes’.”_

_“Yes, but you haven’t been out and about since Jeyne broke up with you. Seeing a new face just has you… excited.”_

_“She’s gorgeous.”_

_“Is she?”_

_“She’s so fucking gorgeous, Loras.”_

_“Okay, but-”_

_“Do you ever just see someone and think,_ ‘holy shit, why do I feel like I’ve been searching for you my whole life?’ _”_

_“Soulmates then? You think she’s your soulmate. Have you two even spoken?”_

_“No, but once we sat in an elevator in complete silence. But I just know she wanted to say something to me. She seems shy.”_

_“Gods, you’re impossible.”_

_“I prefer ‘optimistic’.”_

_“Unrealistic.”_

It was a mere stroke of luck that her cute neighbour just _happened_ to walk into her flower shop. Margaery hasn’t prayed to any Gods in so many years - the Tyrells stay away from churches, simply out of family superstition - but she thanked every single one she knew by name that allowed for the stranger to waltz right into Margaery’s life like this.

And then she fainted.

So, okay, Margaery has no medical training but one hot summer back in High Garden, Loras hadn’t drank enough water and he fainted so Margaery figured that qualifies her enough to take care of the girl. Loras suggested bringing her back to the flat, make sure she’s not dead, and _then_ call for an ambulance. After all, they didn’t know if the girl had a pre-existing problem. Maybe this happened all the time. Better safe than sorry.

She and Sansa have been communicating exclusively through ‘accidental’ run-ins since they went to _H_ _ot Pie’s_. The day out with Sansa had been quiet, and they’d only exchanged sweet childhood tales, but Sansa was still reserved and flustered every time Margaery complimented her.

So it’s clearly Margaery’s life mission to get Sansa to spill the beans about whatever it is that’s got her so wound up. She’ll become Sansa’s best friend if she has to. (But the much, much gayer side of Margaery would rather become more, but she isn’t even sure if Sansa is into that and- okay, yeah, the girl blushes all the time around Margaery and she’s definitely fallen victim to Margaery’s flirting but--)

“Marg!” A hand snaps aggressively in front of her face and she rolls her eyes. “Gods, that’s like, the fifth time you’ve zoned out on me.” Loras frowns. “Ugh, don’t tell me you’re still obsessing over-”

“I’m _not_ obsessing!” Margaery hisses. “And shush, you wouldn’t stop talking about Renly for _months_ until you finally grew a pair and asked him out.”

Loras blushes. “Okay, then skip the months part and just _go for it._ If you’ve been talking to her every morning before work, you should have had at least _some_ opportunity to ask for her number.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You hardly even talk and you’re already head-over-heels for her.”

Margaery juts her lower lip out. “Loras, don’t be an ass. I’m- I’m not-”

The front door opens with a chime and Loras looks over Margaery’s shoulder with a smirk. “Speak of the devil,” he chirps.

Margaery turns around to find Sansa standing rather awkwardly at the entrance. She looks nervous - frightened, even - until she sees Margaery. A smile graces her features and Margaery returns it immediately.

Loras makes a whipping sound before walking away, and Margaery resists the urge to yell profanities at him before Sansa approaches the counter.

“My favourite Stark,” Margaery instead says with her charming smile. Sansa’s cheeks redden. (Margaery _loves_ watching her blush. It’s so easy and _so_ damned cute.) “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Right. Well, erm, my sister’s kickboxing match is tonight and afterwards my siblings and I are going to go to a bar. I-I’m not… I don’t drink often, and they get pretty smashed, so I was wondering if you’d like to come with me so I don’t get- um, lonely.” Sansa’s voice falters and becomes quiet, as if she’s just expecting Margaery to blow her off, and when she looks back into Margaery’s eyes, the blonde’s smile turns into a smirk.

“I’d love to. After all, my favourite hobby is keeping lonely pretty girls company.” She winks. “Here, give me your phone and you can text me the details.”

Sansa does so without fumbling but she nearly jolts when their fingertips brush. “You do that often, then?”

Margaery hums, types her number, and hands the phone back to Sansa. “Only the few I manage to find interesting.”

“Right.” Sansa blushes even further. “Right. Well, uh, thank you. I-I should g-go, so I’m going to-” she waves awkwardly and exits the shop, leaving Margaery grinning to herself at the counter.

“That was nauseating.” Loras’ voice makes her groan.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, Marg. I’ve never seen you so…” He gestures vaguely at her body and Margaery fights the urge to scowl. “ _Goofy._ You’re so lame.”

“I’ll kick your ass, Loras, I swear to the Seven.”

“Whatever.” He shrugs. “She’s _your_ silly crush.”

* * *

 **_Sansa._ **  


She can’t stop thinking about her. Gods, Margaery is on her mind every morning to every night. She can’t get her out. She’s like a plague or a fungus - she’s just always lingering. Sansa has zoned out at her job so frequently that Ygritte has called her out several times and has even threatened to send her home, but she’d rather be anywhere else.

She can’t fucking believe this.

She feels like she’s an intruder on someone else’s life - someone else’s _privacy._ Even if she can’t control it, she feels horrible for being in another body - even if this one looks exactly like her own… (Her flat is now a mess with books and printed wiki pages on time travel and time paradoxes. Her next topic to tackle is reincarnation, but she is quickly losing sleep and she isn't sure how long this can go on.)

Is it even _reincarnation_ if Margaery doesn’t remember it either? Was Sansa simply reborn again, regaining a consciousness her soul had in the life prior? Is that even possible? If so, why doesn't Margaery remember? Can Sansa get her to remember, or is she doomed to have the memories of two separate lives becoming one? (She can’t seriously keep thinking about it like this - she’s going to go crazy if she tries to find the answers. She really wishes she had _her_ Bran right now. He would understand.)

There is no way, she swears, that she has come through time to simply work at a books and record shop and have awkward run-ins with a girl she knew centuries ago. There has to be a reason, and that’s that. She _needs_ to know what has her… _here._

“Sansa, get your fucking head out of the goddamn clouds and finish putting those fucking books away!” Ygritte’s voice is sharp and nearly makes Sansa drop the stack of books she’s holding.

She blushes, and hurriedly finishes the task at hand before returning behind the counter.

“Gods, what’s gotten into you today?” Ygritte rolls her eyes. “You’re leagues away all the time! If Arya or Jon don’t slap some sense into you, I’ll be happy to-”

“She’s got that dreamy look,” Obella points out with a smirk. “She’s met someone, I’d wager.”

Ygritte looks at Sansa curiously. “Hmm, does this have to do with the ‘hot neighbour’ your sister was telling us about?”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but her cheeks burn bright. “I-I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Right.” Ygritte grins. “So if it isn’t them, then why do you look like you want to sink into the floor?”

“I-I just have a lot on my mind!” Sansa snaps. “Besides, I-I don’t have the time to focus on…” _A world where everyone seems to think Margaery and I are romantically involved?_ A strange concept that is beyond foreign to her, but the idea does not repulse her (not at all, in fact, because according to bits and pieces of memories and information about this Sansa tells her that it is, actually, normal in this realm and she is attracted to women in some way). “My studies.” She finishes weakly.

_Some girls like pretty girls._

Did Sansa actually like Margaery like that? Or is that just _this_ Sansa that likes _that_ Margaery? Or are they one and the same-

* * *

_A warm and sunny sea. Sansa doesn’t know how Margaery managed to scare the guards away, but she is grateful for the alone time with the queen-to-be._

_“I have a wonder, Sansa, if you’ll indulge me.” Margaery hums. For a moment, Sansa is lost in the likeness Margaery possesses with the Tyrell sigil. Her voice is teasingly beautiful, but Sansa knows that there can be thorns beneath the rose-sweet tones. She knows that Margaery is beautiful, clever, and cunning. She wields her tongue better than most men wield swords._

_“W-what is it?” Sansa asks, flushing slightly as Margaery bends down to take off her own shoes. Sansa follows suit clumsily, her feet touching hot sand._

_“You pray to your Old Gods, correct?”_

_Sansa nods shyly. “I do.”_

_“And has it been that faith alone that has kept you going? Your father’s death, the accusations held against him - against your whole family...”_

_Sansa takes a long moment to think as they stroll slowly along the beach. She revels in the salty taste of the air, in the smell of the ocean mixed with Margaery’s naturally floral scent, in the breeze that touches Sansa’s cheeks and combs through Margaery’s wavy locks. She drinks in the soft glow that graces Margaery’s skin as they stroll with the sun shining just-so. Bathes the worries and stresses away with Margaery’s very presence._

_“I suppose,” Sansa says finally, “that it is the hope for something better.”_

_Margaery looks at her, her eyes sparkling like stars as she smiles that beautiful smile that makes Sansa’s stomach churn. “That is wonderful to hear, Sansa.” Her hand reaches out and grabs Sansa’s, and the redhead tries her absolute hardest to quell the thudding in her chest. “I hope for something better for you, as well. You have a beautiful soul, Sansa Stark, and I would hate to see it turn to ash in these harsh times.”_

* * *

The memory brings a sharp pain to Sansa’s head, a horrible ringing in her ears bringing her back to reality.

“Shit. Sansa, your nose is bleeding.” Ygritte sounds distant through the ringing, and Sansa fights hard to listen.

“She doesn't look good. Should we call Arya?” Obella asks worriedly.

“Sansa, can you hear us?” Ygritte’s hand is cold on Sansa’s forehead, and it takes everything in her willpower to blink away the vivid memory.

“I-I’m fine. I just- I need to sit down.” She says, her voice sounding odd to her still ringing ears.

She wipes at her nose, then mutters something about going to the bathroom before scurrying away.

She does, to her credit, go to the bathroom. She locks the door behind her and settles down against it on the tiled floor, holding up paper towels to her nose as blood gushes out. She sits in silence and darkness for the better part of five minutes, her eyes shut and her mind racing.

 _Deep breaths; deep breaths, it will be okay._ She tells herself.

Her mind, inevitably, slips away to focus on Margaery. She remembers the wonderful way that Margaery looked at her that day. The way Margaery smiled at her, like Sansa held the whole world in the palms of her hands. The way her eyes seemed to dance with the waves of the darkening sea, and sparkle like the stars that began to cluster above their heads.

They walked for hours that day; Cersei and Joffrey damned near sent out a search party. There was an ever so slight shift in their friendship, then, Sansa thinks. As if some unspoken boundary had been crossed when Margaery’s fingertips brushed Sansa’s hair behind her ear, or when their entwined hands rested between them, or when their parting hug lingered _just_ a tad longer than Sansa had initially expected.

There’s a deep longing in her chest that seems to hollow out the space between her ribs and lungs. She feels like she can’t breathe. She feels like this - _all_ of this, from Margaery to her father and all of this world - can’t be real. But it is. It’s a dream she can’t wake from. A blissful dream where Margaery is alive and tangible and makes her feel dizzy with emotiton _._

She just needs to be in Margaery’s presence - even if it’s just for a short amount of time.

After a small eternity, Sansa leaves the bathroom, assures her coworkers that she is not, in fact, dying, and goes about her day like normal. Until her cellphone (a device that is fascinating in so many ways because _how does it even work)_ blows up from several text messages.

 

**Arya Stark**

**_which bar are we going to after the match_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_idk i sorta like the keep over on 11th_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_no we can’t go back remember_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_and whose fault is that_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_YOURS_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_lol right i forgot_ **

**_how about the dragons nest?_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_where tf is that_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_its a new place over on 14th_ **

**_not far from the match either_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_this isn’t some topless tittybar so that we can poke fun at sansa again is it_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_honestly, Jon, im offended by that accusation_ **

**_it’s not a topless tittybar_ **

**_there are, however, many beautiful women with well-endowed chests_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_Count me in! :)_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_aren’t you engaged_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_yes but i’m not there for the tits and i’m bringing tali_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_ygritte is coming too_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_ew gross i dont want to be alone_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_why don’t you ask gendry?_ **

**_or ask sansa to bring obella_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_one, i don’t have a crush on gendry_ **

**_two, sansa is at work._ **

**_SANSA_ **

**_S A N S A_ **

**_i have margaery here and she’s topless and asking for you ;)_ **

**_jk_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_who’s margaery_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_hot neighbour_ **

**_totally out of sansa’s league_ **

**_but almost certainly interested_ **

 

**Jon Snow**

**_Sansa you should bring her_ **

 

Sansa’s grimace catches Ygritte’s attention.

“Family troubles?”

“No,” Sansa grunts, furiously typing when another bubble appears.

 

**Arya Stark**

**_lol i was gonna say that_ **

**_but she’s way too chickenshit_ **

 

The thought of drinking with her siblings and their significant others, whilst bringing Margaery, would be too much implication that Sansa isn’t ready to deal with. Besides, she didn’t want Arya to drink alone (though, knowing the girl, she’d probably blackout with Jon and Ygritte and get into trouble).

 

**_I’m not chickenshit_ **

**_and im not taking margaery to meet you guys_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_loser_ **

**_you know you’ll choke and chicken out last second_ **

 

Sansa rolls her eyes.

“So, what’s the scowl for?” Ygritte presses.

“Arya wants me to bring my- my neighbour to the bar with us.” Sansa flushes.

“The hot one?”

“Um. Y-yeah. Can we stop referring to her as that? Gods, her name is _Margaery._ ”

“You don’t even have her number, do you?”

Sansa chooses to reply to her text messages instead.

**_I would not!_ **

**_You guys are all so embarrassing_ **

**_if i brought her, you’d scare her away for sure_ **

 

**Robb Stark**

**_riiiiiiiight_ **

**_WE’RE the embarrassing ones_ **

**_and you can’t even ask your hot neighbour out_ **

 

“I thought so,” Ygritte smirks. “So- how are you going to ask Margaery out with us?”

“I-I know where she works; hells, I live _next_ to her. I could ask her whenever and however I felt like it.”

“So you _are_ asking her?”

Sansa gulps nervously. “I-I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“She might be busy.”

“She might not be.”

Sansa pauses, then sighs. “Fine, fine. I suppose I could at least ask.”

Margaery clearly wanted to befriend her. Or at least be closer with her… Sansa tries not to read further into it than that.

**_i guess it wouldn’t hurt to at least ask her_ **

 

**Arya Stark**

**_operation Get Sansa Laid is officially a GO_ **

 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Ygritte punches her shoulder ‘lightly’. (Sansa hides the wince and rubs at the spot when Ygritte turns to help a customer.)

* * *

It takes three deep breaths to calm Sansa down after she invites Margaery out with her siblings, and three more for her heart to stop fluttering at the thought of Margaery having her number. Now they can literally talk at any given point in time and Sansa isn’t sure how to handle _that._

Being as close as they were, and then being separated for years - it almost feels like it’s too much. She wants to tell Margaery about everything - about finding Jon and Arya and Bran, about Ramsay and his demise, about how much she’s _missed_ Margaery in so many ways - it’s overwhelming. She can’t fucking believe it.

So, she texts Margaery the details, and sends her siblings a cocky: **_she’ll be at the bar tonight_ ** and returns to her flat.

* * *

_“Sansa? Do you know what bloody time it is in Dorne right now? Too fucking late to call-”_

_“I know, I know! I’m sorry, Arya. But this is- it’s important.”_

_“Fucking hells, what is it?”_

_“I have a neighbour.”_

_“You live in a fucking building full of people. So what?”_

_“She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life and I don’t know how to talk to her.”_

_…_

_“Arya?”_

_“I’m still here, you wet towel, I’m getting out of bed and walking to the balcony so I can properly lose my shit.”_

_“Oh- oh gods are you in bed with-”_

_“That doesn’t matter. What could you possibly mean by ‘I don’t know how to talk to her’?”_

_“Well, I- I_ do _try but I feel like I can’t even_ look _at her. She’s so beautiful. Like the sun, you know? Like I can’t look right at her, or, I don’t know, I’ll find something.”_

_“Something?”_

_“Something.”_

_“Okay… so… did you try, I don’t know, not being a whiny bitch?”_

_“What?”_

_“You’re just psyching yourself out! This is your first real girl experience beyond college parties with Daenerys Targaryen. This is about being a_ woman _, and confronting your Big Gay Crush like an adult.”_

_“That’s not helping.”_

_“What I_ mean _is that you need to take this damned chance, you idiot. Find out if she’s into girls, make your move, and then be a happy bisexual until the end of your days.”_

_“What if she’s straight?”_

_“So is spaghetti until it’s wet. You can do it…. I have to go, sis. I’m, um, being… summoned. I’ll talk to you later.”_

_“Right. Bye.”_

_She can do this._

_She can do this._

* * *

Arya wins. She’s a little bloody and bruised, but they head to the bar regardless and take a round of shots in her honour. They've found a secluded booth in the farthest corner from the entrance.

“Where’s your girl, Sans?” Ygritte teases a few minutes after they first arrive.

“She isn’t my girl,” Sansa whines, blushing.

“If she isn’t your girl, then you took an awfully long time to pick out your clothes for tonight.” Arya quips.

 _An hour isn’t long at all!_ Sansa wants to say. _I’ve spent days picking out clothes! There are too many options, I still think trousers feel awkward on me, and while breathing is nice I miss the snugness of a corset._

“Sorry I’m late,” Margaery’s voice makes her jump and she turns to greet her when her breath and voice die in her throat.

Margaery looks _flawless_ as usual, but the dress she’s wearing clings to her so tightly Sansa isn’t sure that it really qualifies as clothing. Her breasts are nearly exposed by a deep neckline (some things never change, even in different timelines), and the dark blue material hugs her slender curves. Her legs seem longer than they are, especially with the blue pumps, and Sansa’s mind blanks when she looks into Margaery’s eyes.

It takes her an embarrassingly long time to choke out, “you look pretty” before she tears her gaze away. Her siblings watch her, amused, and their respective partners share similar expressions.

“You look beautiful as ever, Sansa,” Margaery compliments and Sansa’s throat is achingly dry.

“Robb Stark and my future wife, Talisa.” Robb grins.

“Margaery Tyrell.” Margaery matches his charming grin, and Sansa has to stop staring at the pair. (She can’t remember the last time _she_ saw Robb, and all throughout Arya’s match she couldn’t stop thinking about how elated she was at the fact that he is alive and happy.)

“Jon Snow,” Jon nods politely.

“Ygritte, his girlfriend. So _you’re_ the reason Sansa can’t focus at work!” The other redhead laughs. “Damn, you’re actually hot. Watch out, Jon, even _I_ might try for her.”

Jon rolls his eyes but smiles fondly. “You’d miss me too much. And Ghost.”

“Yeah, Ghost is pretty fucking awesome.”

“So am I?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. You’re alright I suppose.”

“We’ve already met,” Arya says around the bantering couple.

“I heard you won the match! Congratulations, you must be very skilled.” Margaery slides into their booth, her thigh brushing Sansa’s.

(Sansa doesn’t want to think about how warm Margaery feels against her.)

“You missed the celebratory round of shots, but that’s alright because Jon was just about to get us another.” Arya turns to her cousin and he sighs, but slips out of the booth and heads for the bar.

“You do look gorgeous,” Margaery’s breath is on Sansa’s ear and she’s so not ready for the intense stammering her heart is doing, or the lump rising in her throat. “Green looks good on you.”

Her own dress is a dark green that Arya helped pick out for the night. Its neckline is much higher than Margaery’s, but it’s also form-fitting and thus Sansa feels rather exposed in it. Her shoes are simple heels, and she isn’t wearing much makeup. But the fact that Margaery thinks she’s beautiful anyway makes her feel… really happy. Relieved, even.

So Sansa smiles at her, and acts like this is the life she’s supposed to live. Like Margaery being right next to her is the anchor that keeps her pinned to this life, this timeline, this _world._ Because even if she knows this isn’t right, and that just a few days ago she was standing alone in Winterfell, she wants to settle into the feeling of comfort and adoration that comes with Margaery’s presence.

She realizes she’s looking at Margaery again, and there’s a light pink flush to Margaery’s cheeks that Sansa could very easily pass off as the lighting in the bar, but the thought of making the stoic Margaery Tyrell blush is too wonderful to pass up.

"You really have a knack for stunning me," Sansa mutters almost too quietly. Margaery's cheeks flush just a little more. ( _Success!_ Sansa's mind screams.)

“Okay, who’s up for tequila shots?” Jon asks upon his return. Sansa and Margaery snap out of their daze and smile at him as he passes the shots around.

Sansa knows that she certainly has never been able to handle her alcohol (even in her ‘old’ life, more than two glasses of wine would have her drunk and giggling - Margaery used to endlessly tease her because of this) and the kind they’re drinking tonight is much stronger. She probably shouldn't be so eager to drink, but she needs to quell the nerves that are growing more and more persistent in her stomach and chest.

So she downs the shot, wrinkles her nose, and sucks on a lime slice. She watches Margaery’s lips wrap around the lime, a shiver creeping along her back. _Gods_ , she thinks wildly, _I think I really am attracted to Margaery._ Really, it doesn’t come as _that_ much of a surprise. Margaery is gorgeous, charming, and has always playfully flirted with Sansa. Or, what she now believes was flirting. Of the playful kind.

“So,” Margaery drawls. “How long have you been into kickboxing?”

“I was a troublesome child,” Arya laughs. “I’ve always liked fighting - kickboxing just came naturally to me.”

“That’s fab! I was a handful, as well. My grandmother used to say she had me in charm school.” Her laugh is musical and Sansa feels a flutter in her chest.

“Sansa was always the good one,” Jon pipes in. “Always so studious - she used to want to be a teacher.”

Margaery looks at her with a smile. “I’m not surprised. She seems like the type. Pencil skirts, glasses, a blouse - would you have been a primary teacher or a high school one?”

“Children,” Sansa blurts, blushing. “I would have worked with children, but I-I think… writing is easier for me. It, erm, comes easier I suppose.” She pauses, feeling slightly brave from the alcohol that’s beginning to rush through her system. “Do you imagine me in pencil skirts and blouses often?”

Margaery’s smile turns cocky. “I might. Why, would you like me not to?”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” Sansa looks down at the black surface of the table.

_Some women like pretty girls._

Sansa likes Margaery. She likes her a lot. When did the lines of friendship blur into this fullness she’s feeling in her chest?

* * *

_Flowers. Sansa always liked flowers, though they weren’t exactly abundant in the North. She knew of roses, of lilies, of lilacs and daisies and posies, but she did not know the true beauty of flowers until Margaery._

_Margaery was a rose. A delightful, beautiful rose whose kindness touched Sansa in a way the Stark had never before felt. She never knew someone so kind and loving, though her mother was certainly a far cry from being the opposite. Perhaps it was the cruelties of the Lannisters that made her appreciate the raw compassion of the Tyrell girl._

_“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Lady Margaery asks softly._

_Sansa blushes. “I-I suppose I’m thinking about you.”_

_Margaery’s eyebrow raises, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Oh? Would you like to share?”_

_Sansa looks down at the bowl of fruit between them. The guards stand vigilant as ever, protecting their secluded corner of the gardens. Nervously, she glances at Margaery. “Just how kind you are. How you make me feel happy.”_

_Something akin to relief flashes in Margaery’s eyes - a fondness settles in her smirk-turned-smile, gentle and inviting. “I like that I make you happy, Sansa. You make me happy, too.”_

_Something blooms in Sansa’s chest. Something warm and wonderful. A rose, perhaps, with its vines wrapping around Sansa’s heart (she doesn’t feel the thorns, not yet) and she can’t help the smile that reaches her lips when she meets Margaery’s eyes again._

_She has never truly known the beauty of flowers, but she knows the beauty of a rose._

* * *

Sansa is a lightweight. She should not have more than three shots, should stay away from strong mixed drinks, and definitely should _not_ drink more than one. So, when she comes to, she’s shocked to find that she has, in fact, lost a decent amount of time in her remembering and now she’s looking into Margaery’s eyes and drinking her second rum and coke.

“Sansa? Your nose.” Margaery frowns, and Sansa tries to mentally place herself back into the situation at hand. She feels really, really warm, and it takes her a moment to realize Margaery is much closer than before.

She opens her mouth once, twice, and reaches up to touch the blood that’s dripped down from her nose. It’s nothing more than a droplet, but it makes her heart hammer in alarm. Or perhaps it’s just Margaery’s close proximity.

“I-I think I need to… get some fresh air.” Sansa says breathily.

“I’ll come with you,” Margaery stands and offers her hand out. Sansa takes it, standing unsteadily.

Arya is nowhere to be found, but Jon and Ygritte are dancing in the middle of the bar and Robb and Talisa are sitting at their table, looking at Sansa with concern.

“I’m fine,” she assures. “It’s just a tad, erm, dry in here. Or- hot. Yeah. Hot. I’m gonna-” she takes a deep breath and squeezes Margaery’s hand.

The pair slip out of the building and Sansa nearly gasps when the cool night air hits her. She drinks in the air, trying not to be too obvious in her lack of breath, and then freezes when Margaery is once again in her space.

She has a napkin in her hand, the other hand cupping Sansa’s jaw.

“Here, let me…” Margaery’s voice is gentle and soft, like Sansa is a frightened animal (it’s a tone Sansa used to know so well, a voice that she’d hear in her dreams and she wants to sob because it’s so _wonderful_ to hear again). Sansa wordlessly lets the blonde wipe away the blood from her nose, and feels her own lips part.

_If she kissed me right now, what would I do?_

Margaery pulls away a little, looking at Sansa with concern. “Does this happen often?”

 _Right. Having nose bleeds every time you’re with someone is not normal._ “It… erm, is sort of a new thing. It’s not serious, I promise.”

Margaery looks skeptical, but doesn’t press further. “You are something else, Sansa Stark, you know that?”

Sansa laughs softly. “I suppose I do. Sorry for that.”

“Don’t be,” Margaery smiles. “I like that about you.”

 _I like everything about you._ Sansa wants to say. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Half-past eleven. Did you want to leave?”

Sansa is a lightweight. She should not drink more. But she is drunk on Margaery’s presence, so what’s a little more alcohol?

Sansa shakes her head. “No, I’m alright. I’ll buy the next round of drinks?”

Margaery smiles. “If you’re feeling up to it, then how can I refuse?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also my birthday is in two days IM GONNA BE 19 I BETTER GET OUT ALL THAT TEEN ANGST
> 
> so  
> next chapter is gonna be a continuation of their drunken antics. its gonna be lit.
> 
> Shoutout to:  
> CutenessOverload and heavenlygrob for commenting on the last chapter! 
> 
> 'Til next time, folks!

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to see more, just leave a kudos and maybe a comment or something
> 
> questions? message me on tumblr: tinygaycommander


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